The Heartbeat of the Mountain Page 4
“I will, Daddy. I promise.” Her heart sang. But remembering Mr. Johannson’s words “…he wants to buy the caboose…” sobered her immediately:
“I may need you soon,” she said. “Have you noticed that stranger in town? He wears a derby all the time.”
Daddy stopped and faced her. “Ayep. I saw him once, and I hear tell he’s agitatin’ Ben Smythe.” He squinted at Luvella. “What about him?”
While Daddy pulled at his mustache, Luvella told him what Mr. Johannson had said. “Mr. Johannson acted like he didn’t like the man, either, and said the railroad would have to approve selling it.”
Daddy nodded as he thought. “I think we’d better have a lawful lease for you, Luvella, signed by the railroad and you. I’ll talk to Lars about that,” Daddy mused. “And we’ll keep an eye on that fella with the derby.”
Daddy turned toward the barn door. “Isaac, let’s you and I go into the house. The boys can finish with the horses.”
Inside, Luvella checked the food as Daddy, Uncle Isaac, and then her brothers washed up at the sink. Mama awoke from the clatter of boots and pumping water, and rose to light the lanterns and slice the bread for dinner.
Luvella ran out to the springhouse to bring in the cold milk and butter. She lifted the hook latch on its door and bent over to step inside. Her arms were too short to just reach in the dark recesses for their cold food. Leaving one foot behind her to keep the door from closing, she let her eyes adjust to the dark. Mountain rock formed the back of the dollhouse-sized structure and water trickling down it sounded like rain on the water barrel. Plink, plink… That constant drip of cold water helped keep the springhouse cold, even in the summer. She found the milk jug and butter pot and backed out.
In the house, she placed the beef roast on a platter and sliced it; she browned the meat juices for gravy while she drained the vegetables and put them—potatoes, carrots, and onions—all in one large bowl. As the men dried their faces and hands and came to the table, Luvella and Mama set the food out and sat for grace.
During dinner, Daddy and Uncle Isaac talked about President Taft “doing away with” Standard Oil Company, and their mill work, since Uncle Isaac worked for the lumber mill in Forksville. Then Isaac told how Aunt Hilda had wanted to see Mama.
Mama chuckled and everyone looked at her. Smiling, she said, “I remember when I was little, I made this clothespin doll and wrapped an old scrap of my mama’s material around it for a dress. It was the ugliest thing you ever saw, but I was proud of it and gave it to Aunt Hilda. She made such a fuss over that doll.” She wiped her forehead and clamped her lips together to stop their trembling.
“Years of foolishness,” Daddy said, shaking his head. Uncle Isaac looked at him, but remained quiet. “Has it been tough for you, Isaac? And for Hilda?”
An awkward silence hung in the dinner air. Uncle Isaac slid his feet back and forth under the table and put his fork down. “At first.” It was almost a whisper. He cleared his throat and then spoke more clearly. “When I was able to find work, it helped. Hilda was alone in the town for many years. The other women didn’t invite her to the quilting parties or teas, or even conversation at the general store.” He picked up his fork again and thrust it into a carrot. “But there are a few other Muncees who live near Forksville, and they welcomed Hilda. We built a cabin closer to them. My sister lives just outside of Forksville also, so we have been close to her and her family. Her grandson, Luke, is home from boarding school. They released him so he could be with his family and with Hilda.”
Mama smiled. “Your sister’s children must be doing good to afford a boarding school for their son.”
Uncle Isaac snorted softly. “It’s Carlisle Industrial, paid for and run by the government, and Luke didn’t have a choice at first. After Wounded Knee and the relocation of so many of my people, the government took all our children of the ones who settled in Pennsylvania and New York, and the ones out West, too. The government put them in boarding schools far from home so they couldn’t run away, to learn the white man’s ways, to wear white man’s clothes, to learn white man’s language.”
Uncle Isaac didn’t smile. “The government doesn’t want Indian children to be home where they can learn our people’s ways. In fact, under law, we are forbidden to practice our traditions.”
Luvella stopped eating and stared at Uncle Isaac. “But that’s horrible! How old is poor little Luke?”
This time Uncle Isaac smiled. “Poor little Luke is eighteen and almost as tall as I am—a true Muncee.” Luvella blushed, but she could see the pride in Uncle Isaac’s face. “He was allowed to come home before the end of the school year—and before football practice—for Hilda’s funeral ceremony and will not return there. He has long finished his government schooling, has assisted the doctor in their infirmary the past year while playing and practicing football for Carlisle, and now that he’s home, we have already started his Muncee training, secretly, of course.”
He picked up his coffee mug. “That, by the way, is not to be mentioned again, please.” He sipped his coffee. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but you’re family.”
Daddy arranged his fork and knife on his plate, cleared of his food. “You have our word on that, Isaac.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin and added, “Luvella, would you like to pour the coffee now? Speaking of our children, I have something I want to brag about.”
Luvella bounced from her chair, grabbed the coffeepot with a potholder, and filled the mugs around the table. She could feel Mama watching her. When she sat in her place, Daddy lifted his mug for a sip of the steaming brew while everyone at the table sat at attention.
“Pretty soon, this here little girl,” he said, pointing to Luvella, “will be doing her store business in that old caboose next to the depot. And I expect she’s going to need some help moving everything from Steckie’s.” He looked around the table, his eyebrows raised in a questioning mode. “And what about getting the caboose cleaned out first?” he asked Luvella, who nodded yes.
“Hoo, Luvella! Good for you!” Jake said. “I’ll help you do anything you need done.” Bill and Reeder agreed. Mama smiled at Luvella but didn’t say anything.
Her father spoke up again. “Luvella doesn’t want people to know yet. It’s part of her advertising plan, I think.” He grinned, his mustache spreading across his face. “So keep that news inside this house for now, too.”
Mama rose from her place with new energy born of relief. “I knew there was a reason I wanted to bake a rhubarb pie this morning. I must’ve had an inkling of a celebration in the air.”
The chorus of male voices saying “Oh” and “Ah” made Mama and Luvella laugh. Uncle Isaac winked at Luvella as she passed his plate of pie to him and, grinning, she mouthed “Thank you” to him.
“Daddy.” Luvella continued passing out the plates of pie. “There’s an old stove in the caboose for colder weather, and Mr. Johannson told me before that it still works. But today, we found two jugs of moonshine hidden in it.”
Everyone stopped, forks in mid-air.
“Moonshine.” Mama’s face went white. There was no hard stuff allowed in her house.
Jake pointed his fork at Daddy. “Tell you what. Why don’t Reeder and Bill and I walk up to the tavern tonight and see what those men are saying? If one or more of them aren’t sneaking into the caboose at night, I’ll bet they know who is.”
Daddy nodded. “But be careful.”
“And no shenanigans.” Mama frowned, and they all knew she’d better not smell spirits on them when they came home.
After everyone finished dessert and got up from the table, Mama said, “All right, Luvella, I’ll help you redd the table. And I’ll dry the dishes tonight—you wash them while I sit a bit. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Luvella jumped into her chore. The men went out onto the porch, the evening gathering place when it was warm. Her brothers continued off to the tavern. Luvella heard Daddy’s and Uncle Isa
ac’s voices when they became animated: “Germany threatening England and France…” and “Hardly any more malaria at Panama Canal…” Their easy conversation was separated by long silences. Twilight time, Mama always called it. As soon as she could, Luvella lit a lantern and rushed up the stairs to her room and her copy of Harper’s.
Her bedroom, located in the back corner of the house, had two windows. One overlooked the back section of the side yard and the other offered a beautiful view of the back yard and the creek. Both windows looked out to North Mountain. Luvella’s bed, which she used to share with Bessie, was nudged into the opposite corner of the room.
“Finally,” she whispered, dropping onto the side of the bed, and read the Table of Contents. Two articles piqued her interest, but she thought she had time for only one. She chose “Ballyhoo Your Advertising!” and began to scan through it. Halfway down the first column, she pinched her eyebrows together and sat closer to the lantern. “Start at the beginning, Luvella.”
Carefully, she read the entire article. Once finished, she blinked her eyes as they peered into nothingness. She dropped her head then and stared at the open magazine, thinking, thinking.
A framed informational insert at the bottom corner caught her eye. After scanning its text, she took extra care to re-read the facts. She dropped the magazine and paced.
“Oh my!” She stopped pacing abruptly, like a cat pouncing on its prey, and realization trickled over her. She laughed and shouted, “Oh Glory!” She heard the silence from downstairs and ran to the top of the stairs. Only Mama’s eyes stared up at her, but the wisps of pipe smoke wafting through the screen door told her Daddy was nearby.
“Daddy! Mama!” She bounded down the stairs. “Harper’s just gave me the perfect answer to Muncy Valley’s problems. Wait’ll I tell you!”
Chapter Five
Mama sat in her rocking chair on her side of the fireplace and stared at Luvella, who stood with her back toward the darkened fire pit and faced the large combined dining room/parlor. Daddy wandered in from the porch, followed by Uncle Isaac, all looking at Luvella.
“The new Harper’s has this article about, well, it’s about advertising and marketing—about a festival—for a big neighborhood, and we could do the same thing for our whole town.” She looked from one to the other but settled her gaze on Daddy. She raised her left hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“Did someone actually try this out yet, Luvella?” Daddy asked, like a teacher questioning a student she’s sure knows the answer.
“Oh yes.” Luvella moved forward, her father and Isaac parting to make an aisle for her. Back and forth, between fireplace and dining table she walked, clenching her hands together, frowning and then smiling broadly when a new idea struck her. “In Brooklyn—that’s a part of New York City that’s like a city all by itself—the merchants were trying to get more people to come to them and to buy their products.”
Her head bent, her fingers steepled and pressed against her mouth, she stopped and grinned. “Oh, Daddy. This could be so perfect for Muncy Valley. I keep thinking of other little things we can do to make it successful.”
“Just tell me what it’s all about. Please, Luvella.” He tapped his pipe against the side of the fireplace. The burnt ashes fell into the pit.
“Yes,” she said. “Well, those Brooklyn merchants planned a big festival, like a big holiday celebration, except it wasn’t a holiday. They had it right on the boardwalks in front of their stores and even into some sections of the road. All the businesses took part and marked some of their items down—on sale, and got other special products in just for the festival. They had food and music and dancing and everything.”
She took two steps again and turned back toward Mama and Daddy. “They said the festival was not only very successful, but people are coming back to their stores. They made new customers. And it was so popular and unusual, Harper’s Magazine even wrote this story about it.
“Daddy, I want to put it to the members at our meeting tomorrow. Steckie usually ends up letting me run it anyway, especially when I have a new idea for the group. We could have our own festival. We could all put certain products on sale to draw people into our stores. We could have Mr. Johannson and Mr. Pearson play their fiddles right down there by the depot and the inn.” She stopped and twirled around.
“The inn!” she shrieked. “That could help Mr. Smythe’s inn, too.” She stood perfectly still, thinking. “And the farrier. Just think. Every single business owner would profit from a festival.”
Uncle Isaac’s bass tones slipped into the conversation. “Luvella, many Muncee women around Forksville make beautiful baskets—all kinds, all sizes, all colors. I could collect a big supply and bring them down for you to sell.” He thought a minute and smiled. “I could bring you enough baskets for a small supply in every store.”
Luvella looked up at him, staring blankly. No one spoke. Just as Uncle Isaac started to back away, Luvella whispered, “That’s our festival.” She pushed her hands into the air above her and brought them down, pressing her hair back, laughing giddily. “We’ll have a Basket Bonanza. Baskets in every single store or business. Each business will display some small items for sale in some baskets and then display the baskets themselves for sale. We can have baked food sales, a big picnic down by the inn, right where the music is, and some of the women can sell some baskets with a picnic lunch in them already.”
She stopped, turned slowly to look at her father, and let out a long sigh, like the last steam bellow of a halting locomotive. “Daddy?”
Daddy was tapping his lips with the stem of an unlit pipe. He pointed the stem in the direction of Luvella, nodding thoughtfully. “I s’pose even the lumber mill could be part of the hoopla. We could sell toothpicks and firewood—and baskets.” He looked at Uncle Isaac, and they both laughed. “Luvella, you bring it up at the meeting, and I’ll be right behind you.” He started to get up from the chair. “It’s a real dandy idea.”
Luvella glided closer to her father. “Um, Daddy. There’s one more thing.” He sat back down.
Mama rolled her eyes and leaned her head onto her hand, her elbow resting on the arm of her chair. “Luvella, you plumb exhaust me.”
Daddy and Uncle Isaac snickered.
“It’s hard to keep apace with her.” Daddy agreed. He reached over to tug at a ringlet falling on his daughter’s shoulder and smiled.
Luvella knelt on the floor next to Daddy and put her hands on the arm of his chair. She loved the sweet smell of the Prince Albert tobacco coming from the pouch in his shirt pocket. “There’s a notice in the magazine of an October conference of the chamber of commerce in Pittsburgh. It sounds like they have a group just like ours, all business owners, all working together to make their businesses grow, but they call it a chamber of commerce. Lots of towns in Pennsylvania have a…a chamber, and they’re all invited to this conference. We should name our group”—she looked up and held her hands as if they were holding a sign—“The Muncy Valley Chamber of Commerce. Daddy, I want to go to that meeting. I have to go.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair. “Luvella, that’s too much.” He was rolling his head back and forth.
Mama spoke. “Luvella. You’re a young lady. You can’t go traipsing around the country all by yourself. And, ’sides, that chamber or whatever they call themselves won’t let a girl in fer love nor money.”
Luvella was prepared for these objections. “Mama, I know you don’t like the suffragists, but they’ve forced a lot of changes. I already told you about women working in offices on those typing machines. And women can go to a lot of other places now, too.
“I wouldn’t speak up at the conference. I’d just listen to see how their groups work. Just think, Daddy, how much that would help our Valley.”
Silence fell on the room like a heavy snowfall. Momentarily, Mama set to rocking, much too fast for a sickly woman, and the squeak of her chair pierced the group’s deliberation.
“And how would you pay for this trip? It would be at least one overnight.” Daddy looked straight ahead.
Luvella breathed more evenly. He’s considering it. “Either we take it out of the group’s bank account, or each member of the group would pay toward the cost of the trip. I would be representing the group, not just myself.”
Daddy nodded slightly, his pipe tapping his mouth again. “Why not send Lars Johannson or Pieter Pearson? They’re both good men.”
Luvella stood, slapping the arm of her father’s chair. “But I’m the one who started our group; I’m the one who organizes everything and practically runs the meetings; and I’m the one with all the ideas.” She started pacing again.
“Daddy, they’re good businessmen right here in Muncy Valley, but they really aren’t good at finding new ways to sell or even of knowing a good idea when they first see it.” She twirled to face him once more. “They have to be talked into every new thing.”
“Try to be patient. These men, and I’m one of them, didn’t have eight years of schoolin’ like you did. We’ve all learned by doin’. So, just let me think on that one. I’ve gotta be talked into it, too.” Daddy got up from his chair, ending the discussion, and went out on the porch to light his pipe. Mama had forbade him to smoke in the house.
For an awkward instant, there was complete silence. Then, everyone moved at once, Uncle Isaac toward the porch, Luvella for bed. She leaned over to kiss Mama’s forehead. “’Night, Mama. I’m going to get ready for the trip tomorrow—and for the meeting.” Turning to Uncle Isaac, she said, “I’ll try real hard to be back home and ready to start by ten thirty tomorrow. Is that all right?”
He was still nodding when she started up the stairs. Once in her room, she went directly to the window facing the northern tip of North Mountain, pushed the window up as high as it would go, and leaned out with her elbows on the sill. She could smell the rain, although there was none yet. The wind had died, and the expectant stillness in the air was a sure sign a summer storm was almost here.